Punching Keys and a Man Named Jameson

Do not go quietly my son,

The night has pity on only one.

The misty rain as it fell,

Burst with fire upon the well

Seeking prodigal son.

Out of ash and pure mistaken hope,

The junkie slings the endless rope.

Come with me now and save the sun,

Jesus can’t sell t-shirts without his whiskey and rum.

The venom of the politician’s spear

Lifts the death right from behind the curtain, and clear

Across a grey dusty haven.

Be till oh silent night,

Allah has no place in my bed tonight.  

Observation

Against the cold and damp night,

Ghosts of past illuminations appear.

Crashing against the quiet and desolate streets,

Men run for cover under the comfort of temporary solitude,

Humming like the song bird of sunnier days.

Mother nature goes to war with furious rage

And blackens the putrid sky.

The great white hope surrenders to moral ineptitude,

While Troy burns like the starry dynamo.

The children of a promised generation fall asleep

To the chorus of sweet lullabies, while the monster of the night

Plot their demise.

Hope has shifted its fleeting disguise to the realm of unattainable

Fortitude.

The streets are ravaged with headless horsemen

Trying desperately to have their whispers acknowledged.

Divided and already conquered,

The voice of reason has no place to stand in the market place.

Delusions of a fabled legacy haunt the very nature of our existence

And the power of the corrupt few instills the façade of security.

The purity of this long journey is no longer attainable

And the poison, which brings us temporary pleasure, is the favored

Escape.

Peace lies within the deepest depths of our blackened selves,

And solitude is the key, which unlocks this dreaded fear.

In the relative unknown the brutes tremble and cast their stone,

While the outcast takes his pain with silence.

The brightest youths throw away what they have to offer

For the cheap thrills of a poor soul.

Laughter is their only anecdote for the suffering behind each and every

Mask they wear.

I pity them, for a man with a thousand faces can only offer

The drug of a junkied generation.

Lighter shades of dark illuminate the secrets behind the misty veil,

While the suns blaze covers the blemishes of tomorrow.

Sleep is a luxury these days

And only the dead get to enjoy its warm embrace.

On Cobbled Streets

the smudge of yellow and green glisten in the fading rays of eternal light,

while fall whips upon the uneasy footsteps of the unsuspecting youth.

against the brick and stone, cast in an earthy haven,

the young bard plucks his strings making notes fit for the coming spring.

here, in this place, I am lost in Eden,

while the dead ramble on in their circus act.

behind the rusted iron gates I am king,

and the world seems much more serene.

but alas such peace is short lived,

the metropolis does not let such a place go unscathed.

maybe the sun is only suppose to shine one ray at a time,

and only last long enough for the alcoves to see.

Four Letter Word

Four letters separate you and me,

Freedom comes and goes

But life is seldom better wrapped together

In the white sheets of a misty haven.

We are all chained to the sky,

But you seem to transcend such boundaries

That even the birds falter against.

I was there and now I’m here,

Tomorrow I’ll be gone,

So take me now

Or never again.

The future has no place for me,

Nature is my enemy,

So keep an eye out for the wind,

It carries the whispers of places I’ve been.

Dancing in the pale blue night,

Men grow old, but the way home to you

Is always within sight.